


Who's Playing Who?

by Nickidemus



Series: Senses Thought Dead [1]
Category: Supernatural, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place sometime in season one of TVD. Lenore confronts Damon about his lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Playing Who?

Damon hadn’t sensed them coming in any way, which was no small feat. And they’d been ready for a kidnapping done right. In a fight like this, he half-expected vervain, but for some reason, they’d used a stake. They hadn’t driven it in anywhere near his heart, plunging it deep into his stomach and making him crumple and fall in a rush of pain and loss of blood. Then they’d tied him up and stuffed him into the trunk of a car.

The most he could think to soothe himself was that he’d clearly gotten one of them. He’d bitten down and felt the bulky man’s jugular gush a spray down his throat. Though he still wasn’t sure who “he” or “them” were, so his efforts might’ve done absolutely nothing. If they weren’t human. Big if.

With that, he stopped trying to think and started trying to somehow get the stake from his midsection. The ride was long and winding, and he thought he had time. But with no leverage, no free limb, and too weak to get a limb free, he simply had to lie in the trunk, writhing and groaning until they actually got somewhere.

Finally he was hauled up and out into the night again, still too weak to fight back as he was dragged into a non-descript farmhouse. He could smell the livestock, a sickening stench as far as he was concerned. The smell of something far too simple for his tastes. He was shoved into a room and tied to the lone chair within it, then left alone again, a giant rod of wood sticking from his torso.

“Hey,” he called weakly. “Does anyone mind?” Apparently, no, no one minded.

He couldn’t judge the time, as any time spent in agony was a mini eternity, but after some time the door opened again. He didn’t quite expect what he saw: a petite auburn-haired thing with big eyes and a gentle demeanor. She paused before fully entering to give what he presumed were guards at the door some kind of signal. Then she shut the door and crossed the room, moving to stand in front of him with her arms crossed.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Salvatore,” she said coolly, and he realized that while she was calm and gentle, beneath that was a resolve and hardness he’d have to watch out for. “Which is why it was necessary for us to have this… talk.”

“Is that what we’re having?” he asked, then spat a wad of blood to the floor at her feet, grinning up at her with red teeth. “It’s quite civil so far.”

“Mmm, because you are so known for your civility,” she shot back, but she was moving away from the bloody gob, refusing to look at it. “Do you know what I am, Damon?”

“A bitch?” he asked, tilting his head in imitation of a confused dog.

“A vampire,” she said swiftly. “One to which your rules don’t apply.”

“A sub-species, I’m sure,” he said. “From the smell of this place, I’d say you’re clearly out of your league, sister.”

“You don’t learn because you don’t listen,” she sighed. “I’m trying to show you. I know you can’t be trusted, and I want you… to know… that I know.” She nodded with each beat, putting emphasis on her words. “No doubt you’ll soon be needing another scapegoat, you’d soon discover us, and you’d heroically do away with us. I’m trying to show you that you shouldn’t waste your time. Firstly, because we are… a bit like your much more noble brother. We don’t feed on humans.”

At mention of Stefan, he finally did tense. “You know quite a bit.”

“I watch, and I listen,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “Unlike some. Also, we far outnumber you. We may be pacifists toward humans, but I’m willing to make an exception toward you if you make yourself a threat. “

“Aww,” he cooed. “From one monster to another? That’s touching.”

“Lastly… I know how to kill you,” she told him. “I wager you don’t know how to kill me. We’re a solitary kind, keeping to our families. Not quite as open and gallivanting as you. It’s actually a little funny how you think you’ve kept your secrets so well.”

“I don’t do high horses,” Damon told her. “If you know us so well, then you must know that. You cannot tell me this—“ He leaned forward, trying to jut his midsection out at her. “—Is not effecting you.”

Lenore tipped her head up, a nearly haughty display, but it was more an attempt to pull herself further back from the sight, the smell.

“Whether you can walk in the sun, withstand vervain, survive on pigs and cows…” He grinned. “You can take it all to hell with you. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that we’re kissing cousins, and that means you love blood. You want it. What does it do to your kind exactly? Me? My eyes gets a little funky. The teeth come out.” He narrowed his gaze on her, delighted that she couldn’t seem to look away. It wasn’t mind control, but it was close enough for his needs. “My heart races. And sometimes I just can’t help myself: my cock stands straight up. What about you? What does it do to you?”

She was gripping either elbow where her arms crossed, staring with her breath coming in hard gusts.

“Come on!” he yelled, his tone now playful, then hawked another generous splat of blood, this time hitting her pant leg and make her scramble. “Do what you were made for! Don’t play this righteous shit with me.”

Then it was more than bloodlust, the simple nature of which she fought tooth and nail. It was rage. She crossed the room in strides so quick they were nearly a sprint, though Damon noted not nearly as fast as he could be. She grabbed his hair, wrenched his head back, and sank two rows of needle teeth into him. In the split second before her face disappeared from view, he saw the face of a shark there instead of a woman, and then she was drinking deeply, adding to his already significant pain.

She wrenched herself away with a stumble and a gasp, and her hand trembled as it rose to her blood-smeared lips. Fresh anger replaced her horror, and she wrenched the stake from his midsection, raising a sharp cry from him. Her arm cocked back, then drove forward hard, stopping just short of driving the wooden shaft through his heart. They stayed poised there for several beats until Lenore threw the stake across the room with a hard thud and stormed out.

Damon was chuckling at the commotion he heard outside. Lenore insisting she was fine, those galoots begging her to let them at him. This was by far Damon’s favorite power. The power to annoy beyond all reason. Because clearly she didn’t realize what she’d just done. She’d freed him. His wounds began to heal with the stake finally gone, and he worked at his bonds, tugging and sliding until he was free. He could be up and out before they even knew. Despite what she said about not knowing how to kill their kind, he was patient enough to stick around and find out via some experimentation. He was feeling up for it after an evening of torture.

Yet he had a better idea, one that seemed more promising. He sat back in the chair and arranged the ropes to look quite convincing. Soon he was rewarded by her presence again.

“We don’t intend to kill you,” Lenore assured him, clearly tense still. “We merely wanted to impart the warning. We mean no harm and will continue to do no harm if you leave us in peace.”

“Very noble,” he said, feigning weakness.

“I’ll get the—“ But she wasn’t allowed to finish the thought. Damon was up and across the room in less than a heartbeat. He had her by the throat and against the wall, her feet no longer touching the floor.

“One scream,” she warned through a choked throat.

Damon released her slowly, placing her back on the ground, but he continued to bear down on her with his entire body. She could duck away if she wanted, but she stayed and met his ice blue eyes with her dark.

The backs of his fingers ran down her cheek. “Scream,” he offered, but she didn’t. “Or admit that I woke something in you. Something you’ve allowed to stay dormant, you sad, repressed thing.” Still, she said nothing. “Are you going to scream?”

She cut her eyes downward, toward his chest, toward his torn shirt. The blood barely shown on it as it was black, and she reached to slowly undo the row of buttons. She saw the wound was now entirely healed and realized she should’ve prepared herself for that. But he’d made her so dizzy. With anger and heat and red. Her hand found a patch of dried blood, rubbing it with her fingernail.

“I’ll try very hard not to scream,” she whispered, and her eyes met his once again.

There was the black blur of Damon’s clothes falling away, the rasp of fabric as Lenore’s did the same. And then her back against the wall, her body held up between cool plaster and the heat of his flesh. His mouth went for her breasts, and she felt a cry attempt to rise in her when he lashed with his tongue, suckling hungrily. Then another scream she had to muffle against the side of his head, nearly getting a mouthful of hair, when he bit down. It wasn’t savage, just enough to dribble blood into his mouth as he sucked on her puckered nipple.

Decadence was not like her, he could tell. She was uptight, but the uptight always tended to make the best lays, he found. And when she started to let go, oh, it was beautiful. She was arching and grinding down on his hips. She gripped his muscled arm, then bent and pressed her mouth on it, biting down and drinking deeply. He stroked her hair as she did this, like the proud owner of a loyal animal. He encouraged her with his murmurs of approval.

When their eyes met again, they were both strange-eyed beasts. They kissed around their pointed teeth, nicked tongues, and drank. He slid inside her, feeling her wet and ready, and she must’ve been ready long before this moment from the ease and depth of it. He rolled his hips up into her, pressing her to the wall and licking seeping wounds, growling up into her rapt face.

She watched him, dangerous and beautiful. He was a poisonous flower with a sweet, enticing smell. So much passion in her converged in that moment until she was tensing, clasping, gushing, rubbing, and going blessedly limp. Damon wasn’t gentle in his final moments, but she didn’t expect him to be. He went crashing to his knees, filling her as his hips jerked uncontrollably.

He pulled her up against him, brushing her hair back and gazing at her with a look of dark ownership. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that.”

“No,” she said. “I enjoyed it. That’s the problem.” She shoved herself away from him with such suddenness that Damon let go simply from a sense of mild shock. “You bring out the worst in me. I understand that you do that for everyone you come near. For that more than anything else, I’d like you to leave.”

His jaw tensed, but she saw something then, some mask fall into place. “Rest assured, this isn’t over.”

Lenore was already dressing, watching her back as she did so, and she passed him his clothes silently. He dressed, then turned on her with a smirk. “Now what?” he asked and spread his hands. “I get dragged across town again?”

He caught Lenore glancing just over his shoulder and spun in time to get another stake to the gut. “Goddammit,” he groaned, crumpling once more.

“Take him home,” Lenore breathed. “And, Damon. I may be in touch.”


End file.
